


We'll Live, You'll See

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: Grantaire leans his elbows on the ledge next to Enjolras, stealing a glance at his neighbour. Bruises are beginning to show down the right side of Enjolras’s cheek. They’re probably just going to accentuate his cheekbones, the fucker.





	We'll Live, You'll See

 

‘Thought you’d be up here.’ The rooftop garden is a small one. Grantaire covers the distance in a handful of paces.

Enjolras shifts slightly, but does not turn around. ‘It’s a good view.’

‘Yeah, that and you can look down over the streets broodingly, like you’re Batman, or Angel-’

‘An angel? I don’t think they do much brooding.’

‘No, Angel, the _Buffy_ character. He had his own spin-off, and like ninety-percent of that was just him brooding.’ Enjolras might have that heavenly hand-sculpted look down, but Grantaire’s not _that_ heavy handed with his metaphors.

‘I only ever watched _Buffy.’_

Grantaire leans his elbows on the ledge next to Enjolras, stealing a glance at his neighbour. Bruises are beginning to show down the right side of Enjolras’s cheek. They’re probably just going to accentuate his cheekbones, the fucker.

‘Y’alright?’ Grantaire asks, deliberately casual. They’ve never had a conversation about like, actual _stuff_ , when it’s just the two of them and he has no way to sneak out in case of emergency. The last conversation they had involved Enjolras banning overly specific Spotify playlists at meetings.

‘Yeah. Fine.’

‘Does your version of fine usually involve getting hit that much? ‘Cause if so I’ve really been missing the point of meetings.’

‘The others are OK. That’s what’s important.’ The edges of Enjolras’s hair catch the amber glint of the streetlamps, surrounding his head with a golden glow. ‘And I never thanked you for what you did. So, uh, thanks.’

For one beautiful, shining moment, Grantaire allows himself to relive the memory of punching the guy. No doubt a therapist would find it concerning that the one good thing he’s been able to do involved physical violence, but it’s a wonderful memory nonetheless. Of course, it’s immediately followed by the memory of the guy’s friends proceeding to jump him, and the night got progressively less rosy from there, but Grantaire’s always been a guy to count his victories.

He shrugs. ‘Didn’t do much. Plus you do realise you gotta stop martyring yourself, right?’

Enjolras blinks. ‘I don’t get what you mean.’

‘This whole thinking yourself as less important than everyone else thing. It kind of undermines your insisting we’re all equal.’

‘I’m the leader. You guys elected me to work for you. That’s how leadership – _proper_ leadership – works.’

‘OK, fine, say it does for a second. You know how in _Buffy,_ everyone always needs Buffy to be OK as well as saving them? Like it’s not enough that she’s defeated the Big Bad, she also needs to be mentally stable, hold down her studies and a part-time job, and be there for her friends so that they don’t worry about her?’

‘Yeah, but I don’t see – ’

‘You’re Buffy in this scenario. Actually, in a lot of scenarios, if you run with the whole Blond Upholder of Justice thing, but the point I’m trying to make is that your friends need you to take care of yourself. Courf’s been so worried he can’t eat, which as I’m sure you know is a pre-tty big sign that something’s not right.’ Not that he’s spent much time thinking about it, or found his own spirits weighed down on days when Enjolras is subdued.

Enjolras blinks. ‘How are _you_ telling me to be more careful?’

‘Sorry, which bit of my giving advice are you criticizing? There are so many I need to know so I can get a good comeback.’

‘You skateboarded down a flight of stairs last week.’

‘And?’

‘You can’t skateboard.’

‘Not _yet_ , but don’t tell Gavroche that. My street cred’s already suffered enough without an eleven-year-old owning me like that.’ They’ve somehow got off topic. He takes a breath. ‘I get it, right, that it’s hypocritical of me to stand here and tell you to sort your shit out, when I’ve never had a thing sorted out in my life, but you can’t be organizing everything and taking responsibility for everyone _and_ blaming yourself for shit that’s out of your control.’

Enjolras is staring straight ahead. His jaw is set resolutely, and yet when he speaks it’s in a quiet voice. ‘What happens if I don’t, and it is my fault?’

Now it’s Grantaire’s turn to frown. ‘What?’

‘I’m the outspoken one. I’ve made the ABC a target. What happens when something _is_ my responsibility and I don’t acknowledge it?’

‘You get that we’re all adults here, right? It’s not like we don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.’

‘Right.’

Maybe it’s something about getting punched that is making Grantaire speak so freely. It would be an understatement to say that serious subjects are not his thing. But right now the only thing more annoying than not being able to play his Enjolras Has No Sense Of Humour Spotify playlist is how thoroughly Enjolras can’t see what everyone else needs from him.

‘I swear,’ he says, and there isn’t a trace of sarcasm in his voice, ‘no one tonight was blaming you for not defending us all single-handed. They’re worried about you. If you want to make them feel better, you’ll like, have some cocoa and put some ice on those bruises and show them you’re all right.’

‘You’re one to talk.’ Enjolras looks at him. ‘When was the last time you took care of yourself?’

Grantaire shifts. ‘Come on, it’s not the same. Joly fusses, but he knows I can take care of myself.’

‘He’s worried about you today. Look at you.’

There are times, when Grantaire’s mind is rapidly listing all the things that could go wrong with a given situation and the various horrible consequences, that he imagines Enjolras saying something like that in such a disparaging tone of voice. He’s good with having his timekeeping, film taste and playlists insulted, but being reminded that he always looks like a pile of shit is surprisingly not amazing.

‘What you going to do, nominate me for _Queer Eye?’_ he says, maybe a little too loudly. ‘D’you think I’d get to keep the wardrobe they buy me, or do I have to give it back after filming?’

‘I was talking about your injuries,’ Enjolras says, though he sounds quietly amused by the idea of the Fab Five taking on Grantaire.

‘Oh. Right.’ In hindsight, that makes a lot more sense. He’s really got to stop assuming it’s the worst it could possibly be.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it. It vibrates again. He takes it out of his pocket and scans the screen: two texts from Bossuet.

_Hey u still at the musain?_

_Is enjolras there? Combeferre wants to know_

‘Did you tell anyone you were staying here?’ he asks, tapping out a reply. ‘Combeferre’s asking Bossuet to ask me if you’re here.’

‘My phone’s out of battery. Tell him I’ll be home soon.’

Grantaire’s about to say _tell him yourself_ but reason catches him in time. Enjolras is probably too nice a person to scroll through Grantaire’s other text logs, but he doesn’t want to risk his and Éponine’s bitching sessions being revealed.

‘Right,’ Grantaire says, sending a second text and clearing his throat. ‘Not to sound like an old person, but it’s getting late and I have important dinner plans involving oven cook chicken nuggets and Buzzfeed Unsolved. Tell me you’re going to go home so I don’t feel neglectful for leaving you up here.’

‘That wouldn’t be neglectful.’

‘I’ll be sure to bear that in mind when your housemates are lecturing me about how we’re meant to look out for each other.’

‘Yeah, I….’ Enjolras trails off. ‘All that stuff you said, about how I need to be OK so they’ll be OK. You’re right.’

‘No need to sound so surprised.’

‘How much do you think they’d worry if I just stayed here? I’ve got keys so I can lock the building.’

‘I’d say somewhere along the lines of Courfeyrac would definitely come out to check on you.’

‘Right.’ Enjolras deflates a little.

‘Look,’ Grantaire says, unable to believe he’s actually saying this, ‘if you just wanna like, crash and be left alone, you can stay at mine.’

Enjolras stares at him incredulously – but the usual hostility isn’t there. ‘What about Éponine?’

‘At Cosette’s. If it’s too weird just forget about it, I thought I’d say seeing as we have sleep-on-able sofa. Can’t let the grand leader of the ABC sleep in a community centre café.’

Enjolras pauses. ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t be in your way, you can still watch Buzzfeed Unsolved – ’

‘Yeah,’ Grantaire says, deciding he might as well die on this hill. He’s definitely had worse ideas than inviting the guy he’s secretly in love with to stay at his flat, but not by much. This probably ranks just above the skateboarding-down-stairs thing. ‘Just be warned; my neighbour has chickens and even though they don’t have a rooster they’re still really loud.’

Enjolras frowns. ‘Don’t you live in a block of flats?’

‘Yeah. So, uh, don’t lean out on the balcony because you might get shat on.’

‘Is this the same flat Éponine won in a game of Uno?’

‘Yep,’ Grantaire says, wondering if he’s lost his mind entirely.

 

It’s past midnight by the time they get in. The bus journey passed in silence, Grantaire muting his phone after Combeferre to tell him what was happening. It was an awkward text to write; he’d almost rather send the message via Bossuet, only then he and Joly and Musichetta would all know what was happening and that’s not an appealing prospect either.

He hasn’t had a guest round in ages; the flat is so cramped that he spends more time out of it than in. It’s not too messy, thankfully – though Enjolras now seems too tired to care. He accepts a herbal tea (Éponine’s, but she won’t miss one teabag) and sits on the sofa, warming his hands with the mug.

‘I should have a blanket somewhere,’ Grantaire says mechanically. He’s finding that so long as he keeps moving and focuses on the next minute task (find the blanket, check it’s clean, put it on the sofa, see if that crochet cushion is still around) it stops him from freaking out about how bizarre this whole thing is. Enjolras is in his flat and sitting on his sofa. Enjolras has gone at least a whole _hour_ without looking disapproving. Granted, he’s gone an hour without giving him a hard time, which probably has something to do with it.

Grantaire has nothing else to eat, so he cooks the nuggets, forgetting Enjolras is vegetarian. The only other thing he has to offer is some supermarket own-brand cocoa pops, so he’s not really surprised when Enjolras insists he’s not hungry.

Hovering in the doorway to his room with his dinner in one hand, Grantaire contemplates asking his guest if he’d like to join the Buzzfeed Unsolved binge. A vision has crept into his head of the two of them stretched out on his bed, not touching but in the same small space watching the same show. Any other time he’d ridicule himself for even thinking it, but today ceased to feel real several hours ago.

‘I’m gonna watch some stuff now,’ he says, ‘you’re welcome to join if you want.’

Enjolras looks up at him. ‘Thanks,’ he says, sounding softer than Grantaire’s ever heard him. ‘Think I’ll just stay here. I’ll be all right, but I need to not be OK for a bit.’

Grantaire nods. ‘Cool. If you need anything, bang on my door.’

He retreats into his room, trying not to overthink the fact that Enjolras is more comfortable feeling shitty than he would be at home. That he’s actually choosing Grantaire’s crap hospitality over his best friends.

It’s a good thing Grantaire’s exhausted, or he’d never get to sleep.

 

The next morning doesn’t feel weird, but the meeting that afternoon does. Enjolras had been a model guest, waking up early and tidying the living room to the best of his ability. (Even calling it a living room is a stretch; it’s the narrow space next to the kitchen that has the sofa in.) This time he’d accepted the knockoff cocoa puffs and spent most of the morning glued to his phone. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he was checking social media, reassuring his housemates he hadn’t lost his mind or reading the news. Frankly, he wasn’t about to ask.

The ABC meeting is another matter. They don’t go together; Enjolras leaves first to drop some stuff off at and wash at his flat. Even so, the atmosphere at the Musain is tense in a way Grantaire associates with social drama. Everyone miraculously seems to have forgotten that half of the group’s members were beaten up just twenty-four hours before.

‘Is this true?’ Éponine asks, taking the seat next to Grantaire.

‘Yeah, they’re remaking _Clueless_ ,’ he says. ‘Why repaint the _Mona Lisa_ , am I right?’

She ignores that. ‘Why did you ask him over?’

Grantaire shrugs. ‘He was talking about staying at the Musain all night. Seemed like the right thing to do.’

She narrows her eyes. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re – ’

‘Hey Cosette,’ he says loudly, cutting across her. ‘How’s it going?’

Éponine makes a grumbling noise, but doesn’t press the subject. Enjolras doesn’t look like he’s getting off so lightly; every time Grantaire steals a glance across the room it’s to see their leader in heated conversation with his lieutenants. Combeferre probably isn’t giving him a hard time – he’s a fairly chill guy – but Grantaire wouldn’t like to be Courfeyrac’s best friend right now.

Twice he accidentally catches Enjolras’s eye, both times looking away quickly. Nothing fundamental has shifted between them; once their friends get over this everything will return to the way it was. That’s fine, Grantaire tells himself. It’s manageable. Plus, he hasn’t had a chance to debut his Songs With Lyrics Bossuet Has Misheard playlist yet and he can hardly do that if he and Enjolras are on better terms.

After about ten minutes of conversation, Enjolras clears his throat and the meeting picks up momentum. It’s nice when everyone else is focusing on the group goals; it gives Grantaire more time to doodle cats wearing different hats on a scrap bit of paper. Éponine nudges him a couple of times, but she’s only paying attention because Cosette is.

The end of the meeting comes sooner than he expected. He’d been absorbed in drawing a little cat Napoleon for Marius (about halfway through Feuilly’s talk on budgeting he started taking doodle requests from his table) and has to rush the last bit of shading. Marius is still happy with it, but then he probably would have been thrilled with a stick figure.

‘You could start an Etsy business,’ Cosette tells him, as they gather up bags and jackets. ‘Stickers or cards or something.’

‘Cats as historical figures,’ Éponine suggests. ‘People lap that shit up.’

‘Combine forces with Jehan, and they can sell crochet versions,’ he says, pretending he’s not tracking Enjolras out of the corner of his eye.

‘Can I be there when you tell Enjolras you’re leaving the ABC to set up a craft company?’ Éponine asks, hooking one arm through her jacket and shrugging it onto her shoulders. He’s never seen her carry a bag, all of her shit is stored in various pockets.

‘You can record it,’ Grantaire says, wishing Cosette would be a little faster in looking for her bus pass. Enjolras, Combeferre and Feuilly are heading in their direction. ‘CBA Crafts, for people who can’t be arsed to do it themselves.’

‘Got it,’ Cosette says, waving the bus pass, and then they’re moving towards the door.

Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief as they step out into the street. The next meeting isn’t for a few days and by then everyone – Enjolras included – will hopefully have forgotten that anything ever deviated from the ordinary.

He falls in step with Cosette and Éponine, who are now talking about potential activist sticker designs.

‘You two can do what you like,’ he says. ‘But I’m warning you now that I refuse to do any designs that could be construed as useful. CBA Crafts is committed to useless stickers only.’

His phone vibrates. It’s either Bossuet or his network provider; they’re the only people who reliably text him. Given that he’s just seen Bossuet, it’s fair to assume it’ll be a text asking him to review Vodafone.

Only when he pulls out his phone, the screen reads _Enjolras_. He’s never texted Grantaire before; they only have each others numbers because of the group WhatsApp chat.

Stomach dropping, Grantaire hesitates, and then opens it.

_What’s your coffee order?_

All right, that’s weird. He takes a minute to respond, then goes with his instinct. _Espresso. Why?_

The reply is almost instantaneous. Enjolras must still be at the Musain, nobody can walk and text that fast. _Reckon I owe you at least 1 coffee for letting me stay._

 _Its fine, dont mention it,_ Grantaire types. They’ve reached the bus stop now, so he doesn’t have to worry about walking into anything.

Once again, the responding text appears ridiculously quickly. _You’re turning down free coffee? In this economy?_

Grantaire smiles, despite himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first one-shot I've written with absolutely zero kissing, so maybe I'm evolving as a writer or I've officially run out of ways to describe kisses. Take your pick.
> 
> I haven't written any fic for ages, but then I finally watched all of the 25th Anniversary recording, pointing out Hadley Fraser to my little brother whenever he was onscreen. Cue a lot of Les Mis feelings and then this.
> 
> Anyway, if you liked this please let me know in a comment (no need to be articulate, it's always lovely to hear from people) and I'm still betweentheheavesofstorm on tumblr should you want to drop by.
> 
> *EDIT*  
> There is now a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435045) to this!


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